Stolen Daughters by Carolyn Arnold (top novels TXT) 📗

Amanda smiled. “How old would you say he was?”

“Hmm. Maybe thirty-something. Your age, possibly younger?” Janet flicked a hand toward Amanda.

“A woman never reveals her age.” Especially with another birthday around the corner. “What was his build like? You said that he lifted the girls into the van. Did he appear strong, muscular?”

“Sure, I guess. He was probably about six feet tall.”

She’d show Janet the picture of their mystery man, but if he turned out to be their killer, a skilled defense attorney would allege that Amanda had fed Janet their suspect. They were best to wait until they could add him to a photo spread. Better yet, an in-person lineup. “What about the girls? Could you describe each of them, please?”

“They were both young. Dressed like hookers, if you ask me. If my daughters ever tried to sneak out like that, I would have sent them back to their rooms for a wardrobe change.”

Justin Cooper had commented on the provocative clothing, though he’d never made the “hooker” comment. Could be a generational thing. “Like hookers, huh? Can you elaborate?”

“Just tight leggings on the one and a low-cut shirt.”

Low-cut shirt… “Did you happen to notice any markings on her chest?”

Janet raised her eyebrows. “Can’t say I was looking.”

“The other one?” Trent asked.

“A short skirt, well above the knees, and a skintight shirt that left little to the imagination. She was big chested, that one. Both had heels taller than they could manage.”

“How old would you say they were?” Amanda twisted her teacup but didn’t lift it for a drink.

“Mid-teens, I would guess, but I could be wrong. It’s so hard to tell people’s ages these days. Or it’s just me.”

“And you never saw any of these people, or the van in this area before?” She thought she’d ask again.

Janet shook her head. “Never. And when I heard about the two girls on the news, I got this horrible feeling it might have been them. Do you think it was?”

“We’re here because of what you saw, but it’s too soon to say.” Amanda was taking the neutral route, but her intuition was screaming, Hell, yes, it was them! “Why didn’t you call the police at the time?”

“By the time I thought to, well, it was too late. They were gone. And I didn’t feel like getting into it with the cops that late at night. I just imagined them grilling me for hours. But if they were the girls on the news, I may never forgive myself.”

Amanda tapped the back of Janet’s hand. “None of us can see the future, Ms. Mills, but thank you for calling the tip line.”

Janet squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and dipped her head. “I hope I’ve been of help.”

“More than you know. Here—” Amanda pulled her card and handed it to Janet “—call me if you remember anything else.”

“I will.”

Amanda and Trent saw themselves out. She stopped at the driver’s-side door, leaning against it and crossing her arms. He stood in front of her, hands on hips.

“I saw a van like that a block away from the second fire,” he said. “The Pansy Shoppe.”

“Yep. Me too.”

“You think someone from there is our killer?”

“We can’t dismiss the possibility, though it doesn’t make much sense he’d want to draw attention to himself in such a blatant manner. It’s a lead we need to follow, but it seems too easy.”

“I get that. Doesn’t make much sense either why our killer would murder a woman to silence her, then drive around in a van with lettering on the side.”

“Exactly. And to park lengthwise… it was like he wanted someone to see the lettering on the van. I’m going to get officers over to the Pansy Shoppe to make the inquiries. We’ll also need to check if the interviews are in yet from canvassing officers in the neighborhood of the second fire. Maybe someone mentioned the van or, even better, noticed the license plate.”

“Good idea.”

She pulled her phone out and made a call to Malone. He sounded cool again. She was driving herself crazy trying to figure out if it had to do with her or just the case. She put some distance between herself and Trent and turned her back on him. “Are you upset with me for some reason?”

There was silence, but the line felt electrically charged.

“You are,” she concluded.

“Don’t want to talk about it now, but we will. Why did you call?”

She filled him in on their conversation with Janet Mills, ending with the Pansy Shoppe and the van. “Could you have officers ask if they have a white GMC van in their fleet. Then, if they do, ask if it had any business being near Clear Mountain Circle Sunday morning, or near Ms. Mills’s home Saturday night.”

“Sure.”

“Oh, and one other thing, could you get officers reviewing the interviews from the residents on Clear Mountain Circle? Trent and I saw the van a couple of blocks over from eight sixteen. I’d like to know if anyone commented on seeing a white van in the area, maybe parked or lingering nearby. Someone might have even seen a license plate.”

“Consider that done too.”

“Thanks.”

Malone hung up, and Amanda turned to Trent.

“Malone’s getting officers on everything we just talked about, including the interviews. That frees us up to take a look around. We’ll start there.” She pointed to the insurance company and headed over. It only took a few minutes to dash the hope that a surveillance camera could have captured their killer. She stood back, her hands on her hips, and looked around. “All right, time for a walk. If we’re lucky we’ll figure out where the man and the girls came from.” She retraced the direction from which Janet said the trio had originated. Just more houses, much like Janet’s, for a few blocks.

She was about to say something to Trent when she saw through the backyard of a corner lot on her right. It was banked by